


John Sheppard's Awful Evening Affair

by LillithBlack



Series: Causal Loops and Other Quantum Nonsense 'verse [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bisexual John Sheppard, Bisexual Male Character, Community: sparktober, F/M, POV John Sheppard, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-07 15:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillithBlack/pseuds/LillithBlack
Summary: In 1991 John Sheppard has a truly awful evening.John and Elizabeth, a story eighteen years and one evening in the making.---John Sheppard meets Elizabeth Weir at a party. There is much talk and mutual spilling of guts. They flirt all evening and kiss all night and get very very drunk. Fourteen years later they meet on the ice and embark on an amazing adventure to find the city of the ancients in a different Galaxy. Does John have enough time to tell her what she means to him? No, no he does not.Or the one where John sucks at confrontation but not at getting drunk and Elizabeth laughs at his penis and saves the world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was suppose to be like a 4-5k oneshot prequel for my larger SGA fic but idk John and Elizabeth had a lot of feelings and then there was a sex marathon idk anymore.... I cannot believe tis was perfectly timed for Sparktober, I didn't think I'd finish by now!
> 
> A million thankyous to Keefa for looking over this even though ur not in the fandom, WHAT A GOOD!
> 
> All other mistakes are my own I need a real strict beta is what I need :P

 

John slams his second glass of whiskey on the bar counter, thinking he's not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be, especially if he has to brave the ballroom on his way out. Because getting out of here is number one priority on his mind, second only to getting as drunk as he possibly can, in the shortest amount of time possible. Finding the seediest bar on the road out of the city and fucking the first willing stranger making a close third. 

 

You see, John Sheppard is having an awful evening.

 

In all honestly he's having an awful day, or week or month or life if he really stops to think about it.

 

But if he thought any harder about how shit his life is right now he wouldn’t be able to stop ordering drinks till he couldn’t to walk out of the building under his own steam.

 

He stands up, still continuing to  _ not _ think about any of the reasons  _ why _ his life is so shit. Before he leaves, though he can't help but order the most expensive set of shots available and knocking them back one after the other without breaking a sweat, to the amazement of the bartender. He has after all opened the tab under the name of Patrick Sheppard, he thinks vindictively.

 

Without a backward glance John strolls away from the hotel bar, loosening the tie on his stuffy suit. 

 

Later John will wonder whether it was those last two shots or just the slow simmering anger that had lurked beneath his cool facade all evening. Whatever it is, it prompts him to turn away from the double doors leading into the main hall. He turns towards Senator Humphrey, and the slip of a girl he has trapped in an alcove off the corridor.

 

Usually John’s not one to stick his nose where it's not wanted, but a sentiment akin to, “Fuck it’s all going to shit now anyway,” seems to have taken a control of his actions tonight. Plus the sight of old pervy Humphrey just seems to ignite a fire under him. He feels jittery and shaky, the tips of his fingers tingling just like they did when he was seventeen and informing his father that he had decided to go to Stanford instead of Patrick Sheppard’s alma mater.

 

The situation is not difficult to judge and appears to be heading south fast. The girl is leaning back, the line of her shoulders stiff, unease rolling off her in waves. John speeds up his stride in sympathy.

 

He falters for a split second however noting the confident arch of her back, the wide legged stance but then Humphrey leers forward and she flinches. She’s wearing a decidedly fluorescent pink, ruffly number and the old Senator’s meaty hand has suddenly landed on her bare shoulder. Her hand twitches, fingers curling into a fist.

Before she gets the chance to retaliate John smoothly slots in beside her, sliding an arm around her waist and delicately moving the Senator’s hand away with the other.

 

“There you are,” he exclaims loudly breaking the moment propelling Senator Humphrey back by sheer force of charm.The corridor is dark and the sounds of the cocktail party muffled but he hopes her gasp passes notice. 

 

“Play along!” He whispers ostensibly kissing her cheek. 

 

And then louder, “I thought I’d have to send out a search party,” he smiles down at her, seeing her vaguely familiar face for the first time. Hazel eyes blaze back at at him, two spots of irate colour high on her cheeks.

 

For a moment they stare at each other, John wondering if he's set himself up for the slap instead of the Senator and then she relaxes minutely, leaning into him.

 

“John.” 

 

He recognises her then, from many a summer barbecue at the lake house or the few times he’d been around for one of Dave’s birthday parties. Elizabeth Weir, congressman Howard Weir’s daughter. Of course the last time John had seen her she had pigtails and muddy boots. He bites back a smile, someone had certainly grown up.

 

“Who’s this now?” The senator is grumbling, backing up.

 

Elizabeth jumps in without missing a beat, snaking her own arm around John’s, the lie flowing out of her with practiced ease.

 

“My boyfriend, John Sheppard, sir.”

 

Humphrey squints at John who continues to smile winningly back.

 

“Sheppard’s boy? Huh? I thought you were blond.”

 

“You’re thinking of my brother.” He sneaks a look at Elizabeth who has a very convincing, simpering smile pasted on.

 

Senator Humphrey is babbling something at them ‘about showing young Elizabeth here some interesting manuscripts up at his office’.

 

‘Yeah I bet you would’ John thinks sourly but grins and says “Oh but Lizzie promised me a dance you know.” He smirks like he's sharing a joke between them rather than lying through his teeth.

 

Elizabeth agrees affably, “I'm sure I'll find your papers  _ riveting _ Senator, but I did promise you know.”

 

John pulls them away from the positively poleaxed senator, who it seems is at a loss watching his small pretty thing for the evening disappear in a swish of pink ruffles.

 

John saunters towards the halls double doors, a hand still on Elizabeth's waist. As they pass the door she casually snags two champagne flutes off a passing waiter's tray, surreptitiously craning around to check behind them.

 

She sags in relief and mutters, “The old coot’s gone into the parlour.” 

 

So John does an almost about turn and swings them out into the first balcony he sees. He has no intention of actually carrying out his lie and dancing, this seems a good a place as any to hide. As soon as they’re alone John drops his arm and moves hastily away, suddenly feeling self conscious.

 

Elizabeth doesn't even glance his way just knocking back her drink all at once. She drains the glass and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

 

“God what a day,” she moans. Then belatedly looks at John and offers him the second flute before flopping over to lean at the balcony.

 

He takes it slowly, feeling a lazy smile roll itself across his face. He leans backwards against the railing beside her. 

 

“So,” he says taking a measured sip for all the good it will do him, “Little Lizzie Weir.”

 

She hits him abruptly, jostling his arm and causing the drink to spill over his hand.

 

“Hey! What was that for?” 

 

“That's for calling me Lizzie,” she grumbles yanking the glass away from his sticky fingers, “Nobody calls me that anymore!” 

 

“Yeah you’re welcome  _ Elizabeth _ ,” John snarks, hand hovering not wanting to wipe off on his own suit jacket like he would have, had he been alone.

 

Elizabeth huffs rolling her eyes at him and pulls away, “Stay there,” she orders before disappearing through the balcony curtain.

 

John slides the clean hand through his hair, wondering what he's even doing here.

 

Not here, here the senators cocktail party here but  _ here, _ the balcony, waiting for Elizabeth Weir here. It's not exactly his ideal choice of venue for the mood he's in, but he figures hiding on a balcony is as good as hiding at the bar where his father is concerned. It's certainly better than the party inside filled with politicians or rich men who pay them or politicians who are rich men. The possibility of running into the man out in the hall is spectacularly high and John’s not sure he can do it after the conversation they just had.

 

It would be just like Patrick Sheppard to be socialising, not a hair out of place shortly after disowning his eldest son and telling him to “never darken my doorstep again.”

 

Not that John had expected to have this particular conversation here either. He had been possibly more amenable than usual when his father suggested - okay no insisted - John accompany him to the Humphrey’s cocktail party as the man declared his congressional campaign. John, loath though he was to suffer through pleasantries with people he neither liked nor ever thought to see again, had acquiesced. 

 

He had thought that perhaps capitulating would soften up his father for the news John had to deliver. The news that he had come home for Spring break of his senior year to break, the acceptance letter from the Air Force burning a hole in his back pocket.

 

Except Patrick had wanted to parade his rebellious son in front of his every acquaintance, explaining how the prodigal had returned with his tail between his legs and would soon be coming back to the fold, joining the family Business and all manner of things none of which John had even remotely agreed to. Suffice to say he had promptly pulled his father aside and set him straight. And perhaps this hadn't been the best venue for it but John had gotten his Air Force Acceptance letter thrown in his face and the words “cut off”, “disappointment to my name” and “never set foot under my roof” were being thrown around. It wasn't the first time he’d been threatened like this but it had a finality to it that John found difficult to ignore. 

 

Not to mention the brief flame of yearning he had been wholly unable to smother, hoping against hope that perhaps his father would not react exactly how John expected. That he would be happy his son was about to follow his dreams. Without any capital from his dad either, ROTC was difficult, but John’s will to fly was stronger. The broken pipedream only added fuel to the fire of bitterness that's telling him to get out now and never look back at the world his family exists in ever again.

 

John’s had all the important things like his Johnny Cash poster and his surfboard in his dorm room. His car too, is at Stanford. It not like he needs to set foot under his father’s roof for anything really. He’d cleaned out anything he needed with bribed help from Dave the last time he got disowned. There's a framed picture of his mother he wouldn't mind lifting, but that plan is neither here nor there.

 

He tugs ineffectual at his already loosened tie.

 

Jesus, what is he doing going over the entire sordid event again? Why hasn't he ditched this place already?

 

“You’re welcome. Here.” Elizabeth stumbles back an entire bottle of champagne under her arm, two fresh glasses in one hand and a napkin in the other which she thrusts at John. Which is - Right. That's why.

 

He wipes his cold hand off and takes the procured glass from her again much more carefully this time. She sets the bottle on the ground and gulps from her own glass a little desperately. Just his luck to find the one person at this party who wants to be as drunk as he is.

 

He watches her bemused.

 

Elizabeth returns to the balcony and for some reason that’s beyond him at this moment John joins her, slouching against the stone railing.

 

“I didn't need any help you know.”  She doesn't looks at him, the hunch of her shoulder still stiff and angry. She’s agitated and tense, a similar undercurrent of restlessness that John’s been feeling all evening since the argument with his father.

 

“I know that,” he tries to make his voice sound soothing like he would with a spooked horse, but he’s still surprised to see it works when her shoulders drop incrementally.

 

“I just like to think any good good soul would prevent the party’s host getting slapped if they could help it.”

 

Elizabeth snorts in response and it's such surprisingly obnoxious sound from the demure girl he was expecting that John continues, “Humphrey’s a dirty old sleaze bag and no one deserves his eye balling. Besides…”

 

She rolls her eyes at him again and he blurts out the rest, “it's not like I can't sympathise.” 

 

He feels his ears grow hot and he looks down, suddenly shocked at his candor.

 

But Elizabeth let’s out a loud peal of laughter eyes shining. “He did not!”

 

John shrugs “Apparently he’ll pant after anything with two legs, but in my defense I was fifteen at the time and his eyesight’s worse than a bats.”

 

He’s never told anyone this before, but Elizabeth is giggling helplessly so he counts it as a win. He doesn't explain how he'd nearly broken the old man's arm when he’d felt the hand on his backside or how hard his heart had beaten in panic he felt it would flutter right out of his chest.

 

Instead he says, “Pretty sure he only saw giant pink candy floss when he looked at you.” 

 

She snorts again, clutching at the railing and John grins.

 

Her laughter dies out and they stand there comfortable in the silence for a bit, staring out at the dark DC skyline.

 

John takes the moment to observe Elizabeth. She should look ridiculous in the off shoulder pink dress but she just looks impossibly young and pretty. She’s grown a lot too, from the short kid he remembers, she almost comes up to his shoulders in the heels she has on. Which is saying a lot consider how small and titchy she used to be. Or how short she had suddenly seemed to John who grew like a bean pole the summer he was fourteen.

 

But it's not just height she has now John notices swallowing and seeing what dirty old Humphrey must have seen. Her figure’s filled out, though she's still petite and her numerous red freckles have all but disappeared. Her hair is knotted up into some sort of elaborate updo and John quickly averts his eyes when he finds himself admiring the curve of her neck.

 

“Thank you,” Elizabeth says haltingly after a while, “for the rescue,” she clarifies, “I wasn't having the best evening as it was and hitting the Senator would really have mucked everything up.” 

 

John nods in response, suddenly dry mouthed despite the glass in his hand.

 

She turns to fully look at him, shoulders sort of slumped in defeat. They stare at each other until John feels the moment stretch thin.

 

“So you've grown a lot since the last time I saw you,’ he says apropos of nothing and then cringes the next second when her mouth drops open in outrage.

 

“I meant in height! You’ve gotten taller Jesus!” He splutters as she glares, “I'm not trying to  _ hit _ on you sheesh you’re like my brother’s age.”

 

He's aware he's blushing but he hopes the bad lightening hides it anyway.

 

“You  _ aren't _ hitting on me?” she asks eyes narrowed and John shakes his head.

 

She turns away again.

 

“Dave is hardly sixteen.” She sniffs delicately. “I graduate Highschool this year.”

 

John is too polite to ask her age outright but he rolls his eyes at her thinly veiled assertion of her big girl status and smiles indulgently.

 

“A shame though,” she glances at him sideways, “that you aren't.”

 

It takes John a second to get her meaning and then she's staring him up and down smirking, “You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you too.”

 

This time there's no hiding the blush on his face but Elizabeth is fairly pink too. They both look away at the same time.

 

John hastily takes a gulp of his champagne and chokes. He coughs and casts about for something to say, oh god he is clearly far drunker than he previously assumed. The urge to reach across and rest his hand on her shoulder where Humphrey was touching her is as ridiculous as it is possessive and it shocks John with the intensity of it.

 

He tries putting in it away in the box with all the other things he isn't supposed to feel, locks it and vows to throw away the key,

 

“So bad day?” he asks inanely, “I bet mine can beat yours.”

 

Elizabeth purses her lips hesitantly and John finds he really wants to know, he doesn't want to stop standing out here on this balcony with her. The idea of getting out of here and getting blind drunk is looking less and less appealing. The nervous energy ricocheting between them has a far greater pull than it should. Before he knows it he finds himself recounting the events of his horrible day. 

 

How he was reluctant to even broach the topic to his father. But that since he'd taken the flight classes he had been hooked and he can't imagine doing anything else but flying. That when his father said John couldn't possibly think he'd actually succeed in the Air Force that that's what had cemented his decision to go. He tells her that after divorcing wife number two, John really couldn’t take anymore of Patrick Sheppard’s bullshit and constant threats of cutting him off. 

 

“Have you met number three? I think she’s younger than you.” 

 

Elizabeth rolls her eyes.

 

He tells her how he joined the ROTC and got accepted for the scholarship which he was about to accept. How it feels ridiculous that he won’t have to live under his father thumb anymore, but that this is wholly unexplored territory and he doesn’t even know if he can succeed, but that he can’t even think about giving up flying.

 

He’s speaking and telling her things he hadn't even articulated to himself before today. It helps that she knows his family, if only as neighbours from a few summers but he doesn't have to explain when he mentions the wives or about visiting his mother at the graveyard that morning. For some reason it's easy to talk to a near stranger about these things, tongue loose with a heady mixture of whiskey, vodka and the bubbly after taste of expensive champagne.

 

Elizabeth listens.

 

She twirls the glass by the stem leaning over the railing, making sounds of assent in all the right places.

 

“He just wants me to be someone I'm really, really not,” John says, heart suddenly in his throat, wondering if he’s let slip more than he intends. 

 

“I can definitely empathise with that.” Elizabeth smiles ruefully, nodding her head a little jerkily.

 

The noise from the hall indicates a speech or toast of some sort in the proceeding.

 

“I can think of nothing worse than being in there or sitting behind a desk printing more dollars everyday like my father wants,” John says draining the last of his drink, it's not what he wants to be drinking but it's alcohol and it will do for the mood he's in.

 

Instead of replying Elizabeth pulls back her arm and flings the champagne glass off the balcony. It goes crunch somewhere in the distance.

 

“Screw that.”

 

John stares at her mouth slightly parted.

 

She turns to him hands on her hip, far too steady for how tipsy someone of her size should be.

 

“It's symbolic,” she points at the hall behind them, “no one out there is going to understand you for even a second. So screw that. Fuck them. Fuck what they think.  And do what you want anyway.”

 

She picks up her abandoned glass from earlier, “this is me symbolically saying fuck you to anyone who thinks I can't, or I shouldn't, or I won't,” and vehemently hurls it away into the darkness too. Then stares at John expectantly.

 

He's not completely sure what grievance she has with their families and their ilk to illicit such a violent response but he's just riled up enough that mindless destruction of property for entertainment purposes seems like a great idea.

 

His glass lands much farther and there's a shout from someone out on the grounds.

 

“Oh shit,” he breathes.

 

“Get down!” Elizabeth yanks on his arm ducking so they're both snickering and hiding when someone who is obviously a security guard shines a torch onto the balcony. The man calls out angrily only spurring on their laughter. 

 

They end up sitting on the ground backs pressed against the railing, legs sticking straight out, shoulders pressed together, shaking in mirth. Elizabeth is still giggling as she pulls the positivity enormous bottle of champagne into her lap. Her dress fans out around her and John almost sits on his own hands to prevent them from trying to feel the silky fabric as it brushes against his leg.

 

“It's good I brought this,” Elizabeth says using both hands to tilt the bottle to her mouth and take a generous chug, “because I'm going to need it.”

 

John swallow hard watching the liquid spill out the sides of her mouth and drop down her chin.

 

“Champagne is great for getting funny drunk.” She smacks her lips and offers him the bottle. 

 

“Funny drunk, huh?”

 

John doesn't even blink before bringing it to his mouth. She watches him swallow before yanking it back.

 

“I need to be so much drunker right now.”

 

“Why Lizzie,” John drawls wrestling the bottle away from her, their fingers sliding across each other's, sparking. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

 

She snorts again. 

 

A completely inelegant sound, that John wants her to make again and again.

 

“Maybe I am, but you’re never getting anywhere if you keep calling me  _ that _ Johnny.”

 

He scowls, finally understanding her resentment of the name - wife number three still calls him that at every turn - and decides to ignore Elizabeth thinking about him  _ getting anywhere _ .

 

“Okay okay I get it  _ Elizabeth _ .” He lets her pull the bottle away again, noting idly that it's half gone.

 

“Would you believe that you are neither the second nor the third man to hit on me today?” 

 

“Hey I was not hitting on you!” Because he honestly hadn't been and then, “Wait third?”

 

Elizabeth snorts again, annoyed more than amused this time and launches into her day. From the moment at breakfast where her acceptance letter to Oxford came in and how the only thing her mother wanted to discuss was her dress for the evening.

 

“Of course I later discovered that the dress was so important because my mother intended to flaunt me around like a piece of meat at this party. Apparently this was her substitute for my coming out as a  _ debutante, _ since I declined the ball she wanted to throw. Didn't you know I'm of childbearing age now and bagging a husband should be the most important activity. Perish the thought of an education, why would I need that when I could be learning flower arrangement.”

 

John cringes at the vitriol on her voice, elegant and refined as her expression is. 

 

“She’s probably disappointed I’m  _ not _   Patrick Sheppard's wife number three!”

 

“Nope. Nuh-huh. We’re not even going to pretend like that was anywhere near the realm of okay!” John pushes away from her, shaking his head and holding in his stunned laughter.

 

“Can you imagine though? Hi Dave, I get to be your new mom now.” Elizabeth is laughing, tears of mirth at the edges of her eyes.

 

“Not the Sheppard I’d chose though.” She slants him an impish smile.

 

“Stop it right now,” John says, “Oxford huh?” He tries wrestling the bottle away from her without much success and possibly changing the subject with a little bit more.

 

“Thanks, Politics and International Law.” She informs him almost pouting.

 

“Congratulations.” John shrugs, wonders if they're in the same boat, “I take it your parents don't think so?” 

 

“No actually, my father is over the moon. He couldn't be happier. I don't think there's a single person here he hasn’t told. Except you of course.”

 

John finally manages to pull the bottle away, but puts it to lips instead of setting it aside like his good sense is telling him. Elizabeth is listing into his side and he's not sure how steady he would be on his own two feet. He swirls his tongue around the bottle's rim, sure that the sweetness he tastes is completely imagined. He hates champagne, hates anything fizzy really, so why is he still drinking.

 

Elizabeth watches him, eyes wide. Her voice is a little horse when she speaks again.

 

“He’s got dreams of the first female President for a daughter running around his head.”

 

John grins slow, he knows it the one he uses when he wants to pull but he can't help it, “If anyone could…” He trails off.

 

Elizabeth blushes but rolls her eyes and repeats his own words, “I could think of nothing worse.”

 

“The world is so much bigger than… All of this.” She points at the balcony doors and doesn't need to explain any further for John to understand.

 

“It's not like I can't do this, plan cocktail parties and dinners, and be the good politician's wife like mother wants or even try my own hand at it, it's certainly time for a woman to be in charge but I want to do something that means something.” 

 

“Politics means something.” 

 

“It’s all just the same cycle John, the same kind of people in power over and over making the same mistakes. That isn't enough for me, I want to actually make a difference. Help people.” 

 

“I just want to fly.” John shrugs pretending like ambition in her voice hasn't set shivers up his spine. 

 

Elizabeth glares at him. “Come on, we both know you are selling yourself short saying that.”

 

John doesn't look at her but she pokes one wavering finger to his cheek and before he knows it he's grabbing her hand to pull it down and looking her right in the eyes. 

 

“Don't tell me this is just about the idea of being the hotshot Air Force pilot? If you just wanted to fly you wouldn't need the Air Force. Tell me there's more to it for you than that?”

 

He glares letting go of her hand abruptly, unable to answer and she goes back to poking at him, he bats her away half heartedly.

 

“This isn't enough for you either John Sheppard.”

 

And when did her hand get into his hair? And when did she suddenly crawl under his skin and speak aloud the things he's never really let himself feel.

 

“One day Elizabeth, you are going to  _ really _ make a difference.” He offers instead trying not to lean into the hand she has ruffling through his hair and not really succeeding.

 

“One day, John Sheppard, so are you.” She smiles.

 

“Fuck them, right?” Is about all the concession John can give, but Elizabeth laughs.

 

John looks at her and has the most ridiculous urge to kiss her, but that was never his intention,

Elizabeth may have been flirting earlier but her story of constantly warning of advances that day really don't lend him any confidence that she would accept. 

 

It's not like it could go anywhere even if she did and anonymous male bathroom fuck she is not. So he stills and doesn't move.

 

As it stands, he's entirely confused when he ends up with his head in her lap, eyes half closed as her hands run through his hair. It's not like his hair had retained any semblance of order at this point so he doesn't really mind. Besides Elizabeth insists that it's keeping her hands warm.

 

Neither of them thinks about possibly going inside, away from the cold. A sort of bubble where they can say almost anything in a trance of adrenaline and champagne seems to have formed around them. They ignore the night growing colder or the sounds of the hall emptying and partygoers leaving.

 

They’ve segued into low murmurs, recounting their versions of stories from summers when they were younger.

 

His version of the time she and his brother fell into the lake and John pulled them out is completely different to hers. Which had apparently been a calculated attempt to stop John from incessantly reading a battered copy of Black Beauty all summer and pay attention to Dave.

 

John's drunk enough to admit to himself he's openly giggling again, when Elizabeth awkwardly makes another grab for the champagne bottle he thought he'd moved far enough away.

 

Her torso bends over his head and he stops breathing, brain going blank.

 

By the time she's leaning back raising the large bottle to her mouth unsteadily, other hand still scratching idly at his scalp John can't remember his last thought.

 

The drink dribbles out the sides of her mouth and she doesn't wipe it away, just as John can't seem to stop watching the drops on their journey to her chin and down her neck. So he's surprised when there's suddenly two drops of wetness on his face and Elizabeth moves the bottle away to look down at him, breath almost visible in the cold night.

 

“Oops.” She puts the bottle down where it wobbles precariously and John should have been more concerned with her holding it over his head than anything else.

 

As it is the thought barely crosses his mind.

 

“Sorry about that.” Elizabeth is smiling at him, she reaches out with a finger to wipe at the drop on his cheek and bring it to her mouth.

 

John doesn't realise his own has opened in anticipation till she pauses, finger held millimetres from her bottom lip still shiny and wet.

 

Her mouth stays open as she brings her hand back down and traces John’s bottom lip. He can't help his tongue flicking out to taste her finger but when her eyes widen and cheeks suddenly flush, he carefully closes his mouth around the digit, sucking gently.

 

There's a roaring in his ears and Elizabeth's eyes are round and dark, mouth parted pink as he continues to nip and tease at her finger on his lips.

 

She finally pulls her hand away and it's shaking.

 

When John sits up, on his knees facing her, everything is tilting precariously. Her tongue pokes out to lick at her lips, eyes riveted to his, almost bewildered.

 

Gently John reaches out a hand to trace her bottom lip, swiping across the wetness there mimicking her actions. He's still surprised when she sucks his thumb into her mouth not breaking eye contact for a second.

 

When he pulls it away, they sort of hang there in the moment, rippling with tension, puffing out cold breaths into the stillness of the night.

 

He’s not sure who moves first but Elizabeth’s hands sink back into his hair as they come together for a kiss. She sighs into him, the kiss, heated as it is sudden. She yanks him down to her and he shuffles forward awkwardly on his knees, connecting their lips.

 

They kiss frantic, any and all sense John had retained that evening flying out of his head in a mess of heat and sticky lips. They kiss mindlessly, John bending over her and Elizabeth straining uselessly up towards him. But John keeps kneeling on her dress and she can't move her legs squirming this way and that to try and get closer. It gets sloppy and wet quickly and they just can't get, close, enough.

 

John pulls back suddenly leaving her eyes closed, head tilted upwards, mouth open.

 

“John. No.” It is about all she manages before John is getting to his feet, not completely confident he can manage. Dizziness from the copious alcohol or Elizabeth hitting him at the same time but somehow he manages. Gathering her skirts and pulling her along on the way. 

 

“Up, up. Get up.” He orders hastily hauling her by her arms, her legs wobbling uselessly beneath her.

 

“John, what?” Elizabeth gasps eyes glazed.

 

“Can’t reach you down there. Come here.”

 

Then he leans her back, pressing her against the railing, fitting his mouth back down over her. She responds to him eagerly, heat blooming along everywhere they touch, opening her soft mouth wider when he demands entrance.

 

Her hands scrabble on his shoulders uselessly trying to give her leverage, heels rocking as she tries to reach up towards him.

 

He is far too tall to bend down for long so without thinking he reaches to lift her by the waist and sets her down on the balcony edge.

 

She jerks in surprise, clutching at him with both arms as he moves in between her legs.

 

Her feet lift from the ground, floundering in mid air suddenly and one of her shoes goes flying out behind her off the balcony, the other leg wrapping around John’s middle.

 

They both freeze as they hear it thunk down on the concrete below.

 

Then they're clutching at each other and giggling into each other's mouths, kiss drunk and regular old drunk and far too out of their heads to even bother thinking about their actions.

 

John noses along Elizabeth's neck and her giggles taper off, she wraps both legs around him now and directs him back to her mouth with the hand in his hair.

 

He looks into her eyes, her pupils blown wide much like his own John suspects and traces her upper lip with his tongue before moving to bottom.  He moves against her, sure she can feel him harden through the layers of his trousers and even her skirt as she rocks against him gasping.

 

They’re both breathing hard, the sounds harsh in the quiet of the dark.

 

John has one arm secure around her waist and moves the other up her back, her skin almost icy and she shivers when he sweeps his hand over her shoulder. John rubs over it trying to create some heat.

 

“You’re ice cold,” he hisses into her neck.

 

His words are like a catalyst and Elizabeth begins squirming.

 

“Down, set me  _ down _ .” 

 

The urgency in her words breaks through his lust foggy mind, rocking him back suddenly to where he is and what he is doing.

 

John lifts her down, intent on pulling back, some sort of rational finally breaking through. Hadn't he decided  _ not _ to do this?  Elizabeth teeters on her feet for a second before placing one hand on his chest for balance, the other reaching down to pull off her other shoe and throw it behind her carelessly.

 

“Elizabeth, I didn't mean to - I just -” John isn't sure how exactly he means to finish that sentence, no he didn't mean to start anything but that didn't mean he hadn't kept kissing when he clearly could have stopped. Elizabeth is tiny and clearly drunk as a skunk, and John should know better.

 

And yes, it took two to tango, but after the day she's had, he feels sort of sleazy and dirty because he still can't take his eyes off her lips.

 

Lips which she licks, looking up at him shrewdly, far too calculating for someone who just chugged half a bottle of bubbly.

 

She's even shorter than him now, breathing hard, shivering and barefoot. John is already pulling his suit jacket off to drape around her shoulders before he's even thought about it. The cold is sobering and only highlights the heat churning in his gut.

 

She catches his hand when he tried to pull away after and stares at him.

 

“You’re not running away now are you John Sheppard?” She asks, placing his hand back around her waist, smile mischievous.

 

“You don't actually really want to? With me?” John frowns not at all computing the turn of events.

 

“I actually really do.”

 

His mouth opens in shock.

 

“Come on, don't you want to blow off some steam?”

 

“We really shouldn’t -”

 

“I thought we decided no more shouldn’ts or wouldn’ts? Fuck them right?”

 

Elizabeth is standing very close and John’s other hand settles on her waist, almost without his consent.

 

“Or would you just like to fuck me.”

 

John chokes on a laugh.

 

Every second with her is a surprise.

 

“We are going back to my hotel room and you are going to finish what you just started.” Her voice brooks no argument. Her smile turns wicked when she grabs his tie.

 

John can’t really believe this is happening to him but he's too cold and too hot and too drunk and more than half hard to be having any kind of rational thoughts. Elizabeth is swimming in his jacket, walking backwards, feet bare and dragging him by his tie to a much warmer setting. A pretty girl is offering him sex, no strings attached. He would be an idiot to say no.

 

“Yes, ma'am.”

 

He almost salutes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps I took over a year to update ahahahahaha don't kill me. I've had this sitting in my drafts finished i jsut didnt have it in me to finish the last bit of editing really OOPS

John will never remember exactly how they managed to make it to Elizabeth's hotel room unseen that night. They certainly make enough noise to wake the dead, Elizabeth giggling from the second they leave the balcony and setting John off as well.

 

The corridors are empty, the party having cleared out hours ago. They don't even see any staff.

 

John loses it in the elevator when Elizabeth starts humming the Mission Impossible theme. They're barely walking straight by the time they get to her door, only John’s completely ridiculous ability to navigate while intoxicated stopping Elizabeth from smacking into walls on many occasions.

 

They only break to neck twice, and John is inordinately proud of the squeak she lets out when he lifts her up against the wall, the second time in the elevator. The bodice of her dress is tough and feels like it's made out of reinforced steel for all he can feel her through it, he compensates by hoisting her up by the thighs, hands skittering under her skirt.

 

“You enjoy being able to throw me around far too much.” Elizabeth manages around a gasp as he mouths at her neck. Her hair is falling out of its pins and smells vaguely flowery.

 

John doesn't verbally agree but his grin still manages to convey the sentiment.

 

He’s can't figure out from _where_ in her dress she produces a key but it takes Elizabeth three unsuccessful tries to get the door open before John runs out of patience. He's wrapped around her from behind and manages to guide her hand to the right place. She’s pushing back at him playfully and giggling too hard to even turn the key.

 

So John does it for her and propels them inside.

 

The door is hardly closed before he's picked her up again, he sees nothing else in the room, eyes zoning in on the bed.

 

Let no one say that when John Sheppard commits he does anything by halves.

 

He wants nothing more than to taste her now, have her arching and gasping and moaning around him.

 

Elizabeth lands with a bounce, giggles drying up in a sigh.

 

John waits a beat, looks down at her for any sign of protest. Elizabeth smirks back and just gets comfortable, throwing his coat off. It's another one of those protracted moments between them where everything stills.

 

Then John drops to his knees, flips up her skirt and pulls her roughly towards the edge of the bed hands around her thighs. It's like someone flipped the switch from slow syrupy heat to the cooking fire.

 

He looks up at her, raising an eyebrow with intent and licking his lips in a way his last girlfriend told him should be illegal.

 

Elizabeth's smirk disappears, her pink mouth startled as her breath hitches and she gasps, “I’ve never, no-one’s ever-” but her legs just fall apart easily when he pushes.

 

Her underwear is simple, predictably white and already soaking practically see through. John is instantly hard enough that he can feel the head rush of blood away from his faculties.

 

He is ripping it off and mouthing at her eagerly before he’s even had a chance to really look for any more permission.

 

Elizabeth cries out at the sudden attack, hips arching in surprise but the hand that lands on his head doesn't push him away.

 

He uses his grip on her thighs to pull her open and keep her hips pinned. He starts gentle lapping at her clit before moving down to taste her, keeping an ear on her breathy moans.

 

John is proud to say he’s had a fair amount of practice at this in last couple of years, college having been an entirely educational experience in every sense. So he’s pretty confident, intoxication notwithstanding, that he’ll do a good job. But it certainly helps that Elizabeth is very vocal letting him know exactly what works for her.

 

“OhmygodIcan’tbelieveyouaredoingthisJohnJOHN!”

 

He's tongue-fucking her with enthusiasm, chasing the taste when she pulls at his hair and directs him back to her clit.

 

“There, there.”

 

So he swirls his tongue around it lazily for while, before giving a tentative suck and watching the full body shudder that runs through her.

 

He pulls away and licks his lips breathing hard. When he looks up past her floofy skirt, Elizabeth is arched on the bed, one hand twisted in her own hair pulling it loose. It's not like she has much else to hold on to seeing as John has her spread eagled on the middle of the bed while he kneels at the side. She's biting her lip, shoulders and neck flushed almost the same pink as her dress. She stares back at him eyes half lidded.

 

He kisses her thigh, still looking up at her, when she shivers he turns it into a sucking bite.

 

The other hand in his hair again starts pushing, pulling.

 

“C’mon, c’mon _John_.”

 

She’s so bossy for someone getting eaten out for the first time but John is too drunk to pretend he doesn't twitch in the confines of his trousers every time she pulls at his hair.

 

When he gets back to it, she's slicker than before and straining up.

 

“Please, please just there,”, “Don't you _dare_ stop,” and other platitudes falling from her lips.

 

He mouths at her clit again, where she wants him most but only gives her enough pressure she's held on the edge, bucking up uselessly every time he pulls away. It's a heady rush feeling her legs flex and writhe around him.

 

Finally when her moans turn desperate and her tugging has definitely ripped out hair from his scalp, John speeds up his tongue. He slides a thumb into her, the same thumb that he had put in her mouth what seems like years ago on the balcony and she tightens around the intrusion.

 

He replaces it with two fingers, they slide in easily enough and then he's fucking her with them, spreading her before adding a third. It's a tighter fit but she doesn't seem to care thrusting down on them frantically.

 

John's tempted to just rub himself off through his pants but Elizabeth is crying out and shaking. It takes him both hands to keep her from throwing him off as he gives her clit one last suck before she's coming, bucking up into him. He continues swiping at her a little slower as she trembles through her orgasm, but stops easily when she shoves him weakly away, easing his fingers out and wiping them on the bed sheet.

 

He sits back and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, watching her just breathe roughly and stare blankly at the ceiling.

 

Finally with a monumental effort Elizabeth pulls herself to sit upright. She goggles him.

 

“That was - kind of - kind of really amazing.” She breathes in amazement, still flushed, chest heaving.

 

John grins and licks his lips, her eyes track the movement hungrily.

 

“Thanks, but blowjobs are easier,” he shrugs mindlessly wondering if she has any experience or even any inclination to return the favour. Then he freezes realising what he's said.

 

“You’ve given a blowjob before?” Elizabeth asks quietly.

 

John’s silence is confirmation enough.

 

Her expression suddenly shutters blank.

 

Shit.

 

Fuck.

 

Shit.

 

John is so drunk.

 

What the hell was he thinking.

 

He can hardly believe he blurted that out, he’s expecting screaming any second so he flinches when Elizabeth grabs him by the collar but she just yanks him to her and kisses him to within an inch of his life. She licks into his mouth hungrily, tasting herself unselfconsciously.

 

This is even more surprising than the time he tried to kiss Melissa Hocken and she came out to him. People are a lot more liberal at college and one of his girlfriends found the fact that John was just as interested in boys and girl to be a turn on. But ever since ROTC and Melissa’s warning about the uniform code John has been careful. He never in his wildest dream expected Elizabeth Weir to not even bat an eyelash at the information but to kiss him with renewed vigour instead.

 

John's still dazed from the whiplash of the unexpected reaction when she pulls away, eyes glittering in arousal. He’s kneeling between her knees at the side of the bed, hands on her thighs beneath her dress. She has no right to look this good seconds after coming, flushed and in control.

 

“So,” she asks in between licking at his bottom lip, “Since you have practice...” She sucks it in gently and then releases it. “You should teach me how.”

 

“Nnngh,” says John.

Then, “What?” because surely he must not have heard _that_ right at all.

 

“Teach me, how to give you a blow job,” she says practically and like its an order and okay then, apparently John heard that request perfectly clear. A blow job is a blow job, he doesn't need to be told twice, or rather thrice.

 

He’s up and shucking his shirt and trousers excitedly before he’s even thought it through. He yanks at his boxers and his dick practically springs out to thwack loudly against his belly in his eagerness. He's still wearing his socks and wondering how to smoothly get rid of them when he notices the silence.

 

Elizabeth is gaping right at his groin in shock and John has a split second of confusion, wondering has she changed her mind, before she lets out a giggle.

 

Then she's flat out laughing, she's sitting there in her stupid pink dress, legs spread, thighs still smeared with her own slick and laughing at his cock.

 

John curls in on himself in shock and embarrassment, covering himself with his hands and trying to step back. She’s basically still clothed and John’s just stripped down to practically nothing. His socks don't count.

 

“No, no I'm sorry,” Elizabeth snickers catching his hip.

 

“Are you - Are you laughing at my dick?” He asks affronted.

 

“I'm not, I'm not!”’ Elizabeth lies and laughs at his dick.

 

“It sure looks like it.” John is mortified.

 

“No no!” She insists, “it’s just, it’s just..” She mimes it flopping upwards with her hands and sets herself off giggling again. But when John tries pulling away she doggedly hangs onto his hips with both hands.

 

“No come back, teach me.” She pulls his hands away, but just busts out laughing again. She is the single most ridiculous person he has ever slept with. And they haven't even gotten to the main event.

 

“Stop, it's going to shrivel up and disappear if you keep that up,” John moans covering his face but he’s grinning stupidly, she did say champagne made her laugh but this is too much.

 

“Have you never seen a dick before?” He teases, pulling a hand through her hair, loose and hanging around her shoulders now. “Oh my god are you a virgin?”

 

“Of course not,” she swats at his thighs, “Look I'm sorry, I'm sorry, teach me,” she says looking up at him, finally stopping her snickering.

 

“I well -” John licks his lips, trying to think about his own first time giving a guy a blow job.

 

He's fucked a lot of girls in college but his experience with guys had been mostly limited to hand and blowjobs. The plan for tonight had been to vindictively fix that but he’s not exactly complaining at the change of events.

 

Before he has a chance to say anything Elizabeth is leaning in, mouth open, and it's only some very quick thinking on John’s part that he manages to pull her back before she makes contact.

 

“What now?” Elizabeth glares immensely put off at not being allowed get at his dick.

 

“Condom,” John blurts out. He's three sheets to the wind but not drunk enough to forget that, never that.

 

“I - we should use one.”

 

“And where do you think I’d be hiding one?” Elizabeth spreads her arms out to indicate the room.

 

“Um, I have one.”

 

“So get it.” She folds her arms as if he's the one delaying, instead of her laughing jag.

 

John rolls his eyes and scrambles for his trousers and wallet, pleased when he finds two.

 

Elizabeth snatches it from him when he gets back, efficiently tearing the wrapper and rolling it on. John tries not to shiver too noticeably when her hands brush against him.

 

Then Elizabeth wraps a hand around him and uses her grip to pull him forward between her legs like its a handle not his dick. Her face is perfectly in line with it and she puts both hands on her hips and glares first at his dick then up at him.

 

“Well? So what do I do?”

 

A lesser man would wither under that determined stare, as it is John just gets harder. Any flagging his erection may have done while it was laughed at is healed.

 

It's all a bit clinical though, so he gently eases a hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head pulling her forward.

 

“Well you can start by licking.” Elizabeth complies, tentative kitten licks at the tip, even through the latex. John valiantly keeps his hips from stuttering forward.

 

“And now?”

 

“You uh - take it in and suck.” She nudges forward enthusiastically. “No teeth, no teeth, uh use your lips.” John warns trying to control his breathing and not really succeeding. Neither is he the best teacher but circumstances are dire.

 

She’s good at taking instructions as she is at giving them out, she sucks enthusiastically for a bit, John's toes curling in his socks.

 

Then she pulls back and frowns at his erection, studying it like it’s a particularly difficult puzzle. “I can't get it all, it's too big.”

 

John snorts.

 

“Uh, use your hands for the rest.” Immediately she closes both hands around the base of his cock.

John makes a sound he insists isn't a whimper.

 

“I don't like the taste.” She wrinkles her nose and John can empathise, latex is not the best taste but it's better than the alternative.

 

“Use your tongue and- and do what I did with you.” John is gratified when her breath hitches. Then Elizabeth gets back to it excitedly licking at the tip experimentally before taking in as much in as she can and sucking.

 

Her hands and mouth aren't the most coordinated but she's enthusiastic. Shivers of pleasure radiate from where her hands, soft and small run over him, fingers catching her spit and helping ease the slide.

 

John’s not sure how he's still alive, it's not the best blowjob ever but his dick pulses hot and throbbing with every bob of her head.

 

She pulls off with a plop, then goes in again turning so that her cheek bulges to one side. She looks up at him assessing and John hopes his faces isn't screwed up too bad, most of his concentration going to staying as still as possible. It's not polite to fuck someone's mouth when it's their very first blow job no matter how badly you want to.

 

So he kind of surprised when he comes all of a sudden, one of her hands speeding up and the other reaching lower, exploratory. Her mouth is around the tip again and she pulls it back brows furrowed examining the condom. Hand still jerking him off almost as an afterthought. Then again John's been ready to blow ever since she started pulling his hair so he's not that surprised either.

 

John clutches at her shoulder with one hand and tries not to pull her hair with the other, jerking forward and spilling into the condom. He’s still half hard and trying to catch his breath.

 

He pulls Elizabeth away and she sits back watching him intently pull off the condom to tie and throw away.

 

“Have a lot of practice with that?”

 

John shrugs self-consciously, “It’s better to be safe.”

 

She considers this for a second before shifting upwards on the queen bed.

 

“Well, be safer faster and get up here.” She pats the bed in between her spread legs.

 

John chokes. “What?”

 

Elizabeth is trying to reach around and undo her dress from the back because somehow she's _still_ wearing it. She stops to roll her eyes at him.

 

“We’re not finished are we?” She raises an eyebrow at his hopefully rising dick and flops down giving up on her dress.

 

“How do you want me?” She arches arms above her head smirking.

 

John gets so hard, so fast, he can hardly get the second condom on. Which, thank god he shoved two in his wallet instead of just one, because otherwise he's not sure he could stop himself. The fact that he needs two in one night is distracting enough. He’s still too slow for Elizabeth though because he's only just crawled on the bed before she's rolling her eyes, manhandling him down and shoving him at the headboard with huffs of impatience.

 

He lets himself be arranged still in awe that she wants him. It easy to pretend to be someone who is cool and suave when they don’t know your background, but Elizabeth knows his whole life story, more after tonight and she still wants him. She crawls into his lap, hands flying to her favorite place in his hair, their lips meet and it's been far too long since they last kissed. Her dress fans out around her as she rocks in his lap.

 

“C’mon, John _John_ , can we just-” She lifts up one hand going under her skirt to grasp his dick trying to line up. She's just about managed it, still sucking on John’s tongue when he freezes, his thoughts swirling guilty in his drunk brain. Hands clamp around her waist stilling her and lifting her up, he rips his mouth away to pant.

 

“Wait, wait _stop_ , shit. Elizabeth how old are you?”  

 

“Oh my God _John_ I cannot believe you.” 

 

Honestly he's having a hard time believing himself.

 

“John I just had your penis in my mouth, your tongue was _inside_ me this is _not_ the time.”  She twists and squirms but John keeps a hold of her, keeping her elevated. Half horrified, half turned on beyond belief at the words coming out of her mouth.

 

“Just -” is all he gets out.

 

“I'm seventeen John, almost eighteen. Perfectly legal in the District of Columbia for you to fuck me now. Right away. Please.”

 

“Okay okay.” John's not going to keep her pulled up no matter how easy it is. He lowers her back into his lap. He can't even see because of that damned dress but she's spread her legs and grabbed onto him. She slides down slowly under her own power and John just groans as the tight heat envelops him.

 

She sucks in a breath, mouth open almost in shock as she sinks down. He's worried for a while she's still too tight but then she flexes around him experimentally and John tries not to whimper. He breathes out hard through his nose and tries to keep as still as possible.

 

Hands on his shoulders she keeps lowering until he's fully inside. They both pant a little staring at each other, Elizabeth's mouth still open, eyes still blown wide.

 

They both moan the first time she shifts.

 

Then she leans forward to kiss him and starts a grind with her hips, that leaves them hardly able to kiss. Their mouths move together open and slick, gasping with every roll of her hips.

 

Elizabeth starts to speed up almost bruisingly fast so John desperately tries to wrap his arms around her waist to slow her down, bringing their torsos in line. The rhythm she sets is harsh, practically bouncing in his lap, it’s too much if John wants to keep from shooting off like a twelve year old right here right now.

 

“Elizabeth!” Is about all he manages to whine, hands tight around her waist, hips stuttering.

 

Elizabeth, for her part, is gasping on every thrust and Jesus how has he not managed to see her tits yet? Why is she still wearing the stupid fucking dress? John thinks mindlessly.

 

“I tried getting it off, but it's like a straight jacket.” Elizabeth tells him breathless, so he must have said it aloud. She's flushed, chest heaving and obviously struggling to breath in the tight confines of the bodice.

 

John practically rips the seams trying to get the zip open and tear the dress off her. It slips over her head like paper crumpling, not unlike crumbling of any and all sense in their head tonight. She is completely naked in in his lap then, her breasts small and high, brown nipples peaked. John decides he needs his mouth on there yesterday. A hand on her back has Elizabeth easily arching into him giving him ample room to lick and suck her nipples in turn.

 

And _wow,_ she really likes pulling his hair with every swirl of his tongue, or does John just really like it getting pulled. The paradox rocks around his brain as he bites and bucks up into her rhythm. John can't get enough sucking quick kisses up from her breasts to her collar bones.

 

Then she's right up against him grinding down almost too hard, hair falling everywhere and groaning in his ear.

 

“Is this what it's looks like when you give a blowjob?” she practically purrs and sticks a finger in his mouth pulling his bottom lip.

 

John's hips stutter maddeningly and he can't answer because he’s too busy sucking on her finger.

 

Next thing he knows he’s pulled her off him and throwing her down on the bed. He gets to his knees, pulls apart her thighs hauling her almost off the bed, so just her head and upper back are left flat.

 

He enters her hard and fast, fucking into her with abandon.

 

He feels his orgasm build, he’s close, so close but Elizabeth is bucking up uselessly squirming this way and that. Instinctually aware that she is not there yet.

 

John narrow his eyes and tries to hold off, “C’mon are you close?” he asks, “Are you close yet Elizabeth?” he huffs out.

 

She moans his name and _writhes_. She braces herself on one arm the other coming around to her front to touch herself right above where John is entering her.

 

It take three swipes of Elizabeth’s fingers and then she’s going taught, her whole body arching and contracting around him. John gets maybe two thrusts in before he’s coming, a deep wave starting from the base of his cock and rolling across his whole body. When he’s next aware, he's slumped down on top of her for what feels like hours. They’re both still breathing hard, bodies beginning to cool off.

 

With a monumental effort John pulls out and rolls himself to the side.

 

They don’t speak much, both of them too pleasantly comfortable. John manages to tie the condom off and throw it in the vicinity of the bin. Elizabeth is watching him, he looks back at her, watching her sated languid stretch across the bed without much thought.

 

She shivers, he’s sure more from the cold than any latent sexual desires, they are far too tired now. He gets back in bed and _tug tug tug_ s at the blanket mostly ineffectual. Elizabeth finally obliges and rolls over so he can pull the blanket up until it sort of covers them.

 

She burrows into his side and between one blink and the next John is asleep.

 

\-----

 

He comes awake to a struggling bundle of limbs in his arms.

 

Elizabeth is squirming like crazy and for a whole minute he has no idea where he is or who he is holding. When he realises it’s Elizabeth he tightens his arms.

 

“John, John I need to _pee_ ,” Elizabeth whispers frantically and he manages enough awareness to let her go. The second she trips out of the bed though, she almost falls to the floor, naked and weak-kneed.

 

It takes more coordination than John’s willing to admit, to follow her out from beneath the covers, shivering and squinting in the dark. He has to essentially carry her across the room, the two of them managing to avoid the obstacle course of John’s shoes and clothes.

 

Once he’s there, eyes scrunched up against the harsh glare of the bathroom light it only seems natural to set her down on the toilet seat. Elizabeth’s eyes are half open and she pees without any reservations while John leans over the sink groggily ruffling a hand through his hair feeling like a rodent crawled into his mouth and died.  Elizabeth gets up to wash her hands and brush her teeth and because he’s naked John decides he can pee too. For some reason this starts Elizabeth off giggling when she spies him from the corner of her eye. John just washes his hands and then snatches the toothbrush from her to perform a cursory swipe of his own mouth.

 

“Hey that’s mine!” Elizabeth whines, not particularly vehemently so John pays her protests no mind smirking at her in the mirror. Still giggling and congratulating themselves on a job well done at being oh so very clean now, they shuffle out of the toilet, John herding a stumbling Elizabeth towards the bed again.

 

John knows they’re still drunk but everything seems hilarious as Elizabeth climbs into his arms again and he falls asleep with his face buried in her hair.

 

\-------

 

John wakes up groggily an indeterminate time later, the room is still dark the very faint glow of dawn breaking in through the windows. He’s hard, plastered to Elizabeth's back and he’s not even sure if she’s awake but she’s squirming back and rubbing against him. It’s so easy to slide back in without a thought, Elizabeth whimpers pushing back against him gripping his arms around her waist.

 

So definitely awake.

 

Specially by the way her nails cut into his forearms.

 

They are on their sides and Elizabeth moans and moans as he fucks her slow, until it's not slow anymore and everything goes hot and urgent. She rolls onto her stomach pulling John with her in the movement.

 

John keeps at it a little harder, moving more with instinct than deliberation, rocking his hips down still slow. She comes like that, slow and drawn out.

 

He almost there too, a second away when he remembers, an alarm bell going off in his head at the last second and pulls out. His come splattered over the swell of her ass and her thighs and even on the sheets. Elizabeth makes a disgusted sound but is too lazy to actually do much more than still. John grabs for the nearest thing which happens to be the blasted pink dress, he’s too sleepy to care and mops her up with it, before throwing it to the ground. He pulls the covers over them again and she turns in his arms kissing him close mouthed and languid.

 

They fall asleep again.

 

\-----

The final time John wakes up his head is pounding and the sun is shining in his eyes. He hears more than sees Elizabeth struggling to pull the the large curtains close against the burning light of the sun. She tugs it close and John blinks blearily at her from the bed.

 

She is wearing his dress shirt.

 

“Hi,” says John.

 

She turns, hand grabbing to the front of the shirt to cover herself, the other flying to her hair tucking it behind an ear self consciously.

 

“Hello.”

 

John sits up, squinting blearily. Elizabeth stays on the other side of the room across from him. The clock on the side table says it's just after eight in the morning.

 

“So.” John says and then stops, not sure what he even want to say.

He’s naked and not really ready for any kind of conversation without pants. Shakily he gets up using the sheet to cover himself for the most part and reaches for his trousers.

 

Elizabeth squeaks and turns away, she stumbles.

 

“Shit sorry, are you okay?” John scrubs a hand across his face, then buttons his pants.

 

“I’m fine.” Elizabeth says sticking her nose up in the air and then proceeding to limp back towards the bed.

 

They stare helplessly at each other.

 

“My flight is this afternoon.” John tells tell.

 

“I’m- my parents will be looking for me soon.” She glances away, arms folded in front of her.

 

“Look I’m sorry if-” John starts, thinking it better to apologise right away that assume anything. He feels far to open and naked despite everything.

 

“John,” she cuts him off, “there’s nothing to apologise for. We were both there we both know what happened. I’m not some maiden whose virtue you robbed.”

 

“Right. Okay.”

 

She won’t look him in the eye and John’s not sure he would be able to meet her stare if she did.

 

“Right,” he says again for lack of a better word, then, “I should probably get dressed.”

 

Elizabeth startles and grabs onto his shirt to wrap it more tightly around her. “Oh yes I suppose,” she says but makes no move to hand it back.

 

John casts around for something she can wear but the only thing is her pink dress which is- very much ruined beyond repair.

 

“Er…” he grabs the sheet off the bed and makes his way closer. Elizabeth’s shoulder hunch up but she doesn't protest when John holding the sheet up in front of her almost like a screen. It’s so stupid, they were naked and happy yesterday so why is everything so stilted and awkward now.

 

Elizabeth shrugs out of his shirt and drops it to the floor and John looks to one side as he gently wraps the sheet around her shoulders. He looks at a point beyond her shoulder, letting her grabs onto the sheet with both hands and hold it closed, secure at her front.

 

“Thankyou,” Elizabeth murmurs and John bends to pick his shirt.

 

He shrugs and pulls it on. Gathering the rest of his belonging is a head pounding hunt across the floor. He finds his socks under the bed and he can’t exactly remember taking them off, but he clearly remembers wanting to.

 

Elizabeth is smiling slightly at him when he sits down to put on his shoes. John smirks and looks down, focusing on his laces.

 

“So,” he breathes standing up.

 

“So,” she echoes.

 

“I guess I better-” John gestures to the door pulling a hand through his hair. Elizabeth looks like she's got frog or two in her mouth, ready to escape but keeps her lips pressed tightly together.

 

They both stare at each other but make no move. It’s not until they hear the distant sounds of a trolley in the hallway, someone clearly having called for breakfast that John finally gets up. The sudden thought of her parents somehow walking in to the room propelling him across the space faster that he realises.

 

Elizabeth follows him to the door slowly, he arms folded tight across her front keeping the sheet well secured around her but a corner of it still trails on the ground behind her.

 

“It was- It was nice seeing you again Lizz- Elizabeth.” John inwardly cringes at himself with one hand on the door knob.

 

They continue to stare wordlessly almost drinking in the sight of each other. Finally he pulls himself away and turns to the door.

 

“John, wait let me.” she inches past him to open the door and peek out before letting him know the coast is clear.

 

They stand in the open doorway, looking at each other again, where anyone could walk by and see Elizabeth in nothing but a sheet yet somehow neither came bring themselves to stop.

 

“Listen John-” Elizabeth begin and cuts of.

 

The she lets out a sigh and suddenly there is a hand sneaking out from beneath her sheet toga. She grab a hold of his collar and tugs him down roughly, John lets himself be guided. It’s not like he wasn't expecting it but she kisses him with a gentleness that belies the aggression with which she grabs his shirt. They kiss and kiss and kiss barely breaking for breath. The sound of a vacuum starting up in a room down the hall startles them apart and they grin stupidly at each other.

 

“Thanks for the rescue Johnny, go fuck ‘em.” she smiles.

 

And John who usually hates anyone using the nickname his father calls him by doesn't even flinch just smiles and winks at her.

 

Gently he straightens up and her hand falls away from him.

 

“See you around Lizzie.” he says walking backwards from her door. A door opens down the hall a cleaning lady bustling out with a trolley and Elizabeth suddenly disappears inside her room. John turns and saunters down the hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on[Tumblr.](http://buckywithegoodhair.tumblr.com/) I love to chat. And i dont have enough people to cry about SGA with....


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